The Return of King Arthur
by Curioushedgehog
Summary: It was prophesied that Merlin and Arthur's destinies would always be intertwined and that, through the two, Albion would be united. What if Merlin died before Arthur rose from the Lake of Avalon? How will the prophecy be fulfilled? Luckily, Merlin's line and magic live on. Arthur/OFC


**Prologue**

_Passing On_

Merlin gazed out over the lake once more, the familiar pang of sorrow hitting him anew.

The water was abnormally still, and a light mist rose from it, creating an ethereal effect. A full moon rode on the coat tails of the sky as it continued on its heavenly journey. Though Merlin was usually attuned to the magic of nature, tonight there was something _more_ hanging about him, a presence that engendered a sense of hyper-awareness within him. Each breath he took seemed almost electric, each inhalation fresh and different from its predecessor.

Merlin _knew. _

A century had gone by, and the years became irrelevant to him. Despite the wrinkles which now resided on his skin, the sorcerer's magic was as strong as ever; however, his inner self, his soul, was weary. Living in his small cottage on the Lake of Avalon with nothing but croaking bullfrogs and splashing fish caused loneliness to indwell him progressively. Each decade passed and left him evermore empty.

For, as that century and the next had passed, everyone he loved had died: the Knights of the Round Table, Queen Gwendolyn, Gaius..._Einin._

Her name meant "Little Bird," and it suited her perfectly. The woman's mannerisms were so like those of birds, it was as though she were an avian bound to human flesh. She embodied grace, and her fluid gait made it seem as though she could sprout wings and fly off at any moment. Despite her flighty nature, she had remained by the wizard's side immovably. The pair was an odd one-graceful and gangly, beautiful and bumbling-but, oh, Einin and Merlin! How wonderfully the names coupled!

The woman wasn't magical, but she'd cast an ineffably potent spell over his heart. To his utter surprise and pleasure, she'd reciprocated his feelings. The two had wed one summer's afternoon on the shore of the lake, soon after moving into the quaint stone cottage situated just beyond the water's reach.

Merlin had experienced many trials, and sadness had reigned over his life for so long, but she made everything more bearable. As the sorcerer focused on the lake, on the person awaiting redemption from its depth, his wife would come beside him with a gentle hand that traced distracting circles on his back. If sadness were darkness, she was a bright lamp. With every beam of light, Einin gave Merlin hope.

Then, one fateful morn, she was gone. When Merlin awoke, the bed beside him was cold, the cottage empty. He searched for months, using his magic to cast searching spells, but it was as though she'd disappeared off the face of the earth. All that remained of her were his memories.

Perhaps she'd never existed. Had she been a figment of his imagination concocted subconsciously by his mind to make him forget the heartbreak of losing Arthur?

Over time, Merlin found himself not caring about whether Einin had truly existed. Whether she had or not, she had brought him joy when he had none.

The warlock stared out over the lake again, pondering the man resting in its depths. Often, Merlin tried to contact Freya to query about Arthur's wellbeing. The Lady of the Lake remained silent.

The magic in the air surrounding him sparked at his sense once more, and Merlin felt compelled to close his eyes, simply to feel. Reclining, the wizard rested by Avalon's shore, on the very spot where he and Einin had pledged themselves to each other. Magic began overwhelming his senses, becoming a constant thrumming inside his lungs. It grew harder and harder for the elderly wizard to breathe, but he found himself accepting his fate.

As his body succumbed, Merlin bathed in his memories:

Dancing clumsily with Einin inside their tiny cottage, holding her so close they were practically one being.

Laughing with the Knights as they sat around a campfire and ate warm food to ward off the cold night.

Making potions with Gaius in companionable silence.

Speaking with Kilgharrah in the ancient tongue of dragons.

Visiting his mother in Ealdor.

Exchanging insults with Arthur-what a dollop-head.

The prophecy.

A chord of panic struck within his heart. How could he fulfill the prophecy? Would Arthur be cursed to his watery grave forever?

The wizard struggled against his unresponsive body, but it was no use.

As death overcame him, a tear rolled down his cheek, catching the glistening moonbeams and descending slowly to the earth below him.

_I'm sorry, Arthur._


End file.
